Splendidus Palma
by For You Blue
Summary: A collection of vignettes and one-shots from the primary perspective of Peter Pevensie the Magnificent, High King of Narnia.  From the golden age, through Prince Caspian and beyond, in Narnia and our world. *Part 2: Ethereal Beauty.*
1. Reflecting Magnificence

**~ Splendidus Palma ~  
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****Summary:**

A collection of vignettes and one-shots from the primary perspective of Peter Pevensie the Magnificent, High King of Narnia. From the golden age, through Prince Caspian and beyond, in Narnia and our world.

They won't be posted in order. As they are written, they will be posted and eventually put in chronological order. From both book-verse and movie-verse.

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Part one: **Reflecting Magnificence **

Beginning from the very start of movie-verse _Prince Caspian_. When the Pevensies uncover the ruins of their once glorious palace of Cair Paravel, Peter is forced confront his unresolved emotions on leaving behind his kingship and his adulthood in Narnia, forced to once again live his teen years and bow to authority.

Returning to a place you love is easy, confronting a past you didn't want to leave behind is the hardest.

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**Disclaimer: **I did not create this wonderful world and its book series, it is all thanks to C.S Lewis, thank-you Mr Lewis for many, many years of enjoyment.

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**Reflecting Magnificence. **

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**I**t was the now knowing that this crumbling mass of ruins, (assembled on a cliff jutting out over the sparkling Eastern Sea,) was once his glorious palace of Cair Paravel, that was the most painful realisation.

Peter Pevensie, erstwhile known in the land of Narnia where he'd now returned to, (where he'd lived, and ruled, for fifteen years,) as High King Peter the Magnificent; suddenly found himself at a loss and wanted to fall to the ground and beat his fists against the crumbling tiles of Cair Paravel's once shining throne room floor. But restrained himself.

_I'm the High King of Narnia. I've withstood battle after battle, I've passed great judgements and declared wars._

_I am not about to contemplate defeat in any form of the word._

_I survived returning to the land of my birth at half my true age; and because of it having to suffer schools and school masters, raging hormones and everyone treating me like a child all over again._

_I will not let this break me now._

For the past year Peter had questioned himself as to why Aslan had sent them back. Knowing deep down it was useless to do so, (Aslan must have had his reasons after all,) but in some ways it made him feel better to have something to ponder.

In England there were no decisions to be made about diplomacy with his little brother and their advisors. There were no wars to be declared on enemies; there were no suitors chasing after Susan and Lucy to rattle sabres at to keep them honest...only a few pimply teens after Sue at the train-station.

Glancing over his shoulder at his siblings following behind him, (like Peter, clad in their sandy school uniforms,) Peter thought perhaps Lucy was weathering the change worse than all of them. Going from twenty-three to eight, was much more traumatic then twenty-nine to fourteen.

But Lucy always had a bright smile for everyone, and a comforting hand reaching out to grasp whenever she thought they looked upset.

_Lu might be the youngest, but she's definitely the bravest._ Peter thought fondly, his baby sister was still a gracious Queen.

Susan, on the other hand, seemed to become rather quiet and withdrawn, only giggling occasionally if she caught Peter stroking his chin in thought.

"_Come off it, Peter! You don't have a beard anymore to stroke and ponder the mysteries of the universe anymore." Sue said gaily one night in the sitting room of their house in Finchley._

_Lucy was sitting on the sofa beside Susan, holding the yarn between her hands as her older sister knitted what looked like was going to be yet another scarf. Edmund was lying in front of the fire, flipping over a rather thick book belonging to their father about judicial rights._

_Peter, as was aforementioned, was stroking his chin and sitting on the plush green chair pulled up closest to the fire. Looking over at the almost sad chuckle from Susan, and the expression of sadness in her dark blue eyes, made her older brother only smile very small in response._

"_Ed would miss his beard too, if Lucy hadn't forced him to shave it off after the Rabadash incident," Sue add mildly, clicking her thin black needles together as she turned her attention to riling up her serious little brother. Lucy merely sighed, deciding to keep out of it._

_Edmund grunted, not looking up from his book. "Nobody _forced_ me. Lucy asked so I did it. And by the way, I don't know about you, Peter, but I don't like not having to shave again for a few more years as much as I thought I would," he flipped over a page. "I also miss courting ladies and having respect."_

"_I do as well, brother," Peter admitted, tapping his fingers on the worn green velvet of the arm rests._

"_Funny thing that you do," Edmund turned his eyes off his book for the briefest of moments to regard his brother, who looked back down at him for an explanation. "I really don't remember you having the time to court many ladies, if any. And as for respect, well..."_

_Peter threw a tasseled cushion at his brother's head to silence him. "Oh very funny. I suppose I should just say I miss my beard, then?" He invoked of the smirking Edmund, who tucked the cushion underneath himself._

"_When did you ever have a beard, Pete?" A kindly, deep voice broke the revere of the sitting room and the Pevensies all turned to look over at their father, standing in the doorway with the newspaper tucked under his right arm, and his arms folded over his brown sweater._

"_Oh...the Professor had an attic full of old costumes and things of the sort," Peter quickly improvised, with a quick glance around at his siblings, to let them silently know to back him up. "It used to make Lucy laugh to see me wear it and pretend to be a Prince or a..."_

"_King," Edmund interjected poignantly, turning to look over at his dark-blonde haired father. "We had swords and everything. The Professor told Peter we could have the swords and beards...but we left them behind."_

_Paul Pevensie smiled and walked over to the chair where Peter sat, (with the slight limp he still bore from the injury that had let him leave the army,) sitting on the arm rest beside his eldest child. _

"_Well that makes a lot more sense," Mr Pevensie lifted up Peter's chin and studied him. "I'd say you're only a few years away from shaving, though. Heavens you're all growing up fast."_

"_Faster than you think," Lucy mumbled, a little louder than she intended and Paul looked sharply over at his youngest daughter. _

_Peter suspected that their father had picked up on the very different attitude of his sons and daughters after returning from the war. But Paul wasn't a prying sort, he was calm and rational, a lot like Edmund had become._

"_What was that Lucy?" Mr Pevensie invoked in confusion. _

_Lucy's still baby-faced features parted in a charming smile and she dropped the yarn to rush over and embrace her father. "I just said how much I've missed you, Father." She snuggled her face against Paul's chest and glanced aside at Peter with an expression of resignation._

_They all had to pretend. They had to pretend they were children. They had to pretend that there was no place called Narnia where they had ruled, had grown up, had bled and cried for; had lost friends and fought battle after battle, (not always with swords,) to keep her safe in the name of Aslan._

_Paul stroked his daughter's reddish hair with a soft smile and kissed the top of her head. "I missed you too, sweetheart," he hugged his daughter a little tighter. As if silently willing her to stay the same sweet, adorable age she was at that moment._

_Peter remembered the day the first suitor came calling on Lucy. Not much younger than himself, the lower Prince of Archenland had smiled nervously under his perfectly trimmed moustache, when the High King had inquired if he was here to inquire on behalf of Susan._

"Not quite Sire_," The Prince admitted with a soft smile. "_I have no doubt many a man has arrived at your door to inquire about the gentle Queen your sister. But I have want of a different request. I would like your permission to court the Queen Lucy."

_Peter had felt just like his father did then. He'd wanted to say his little sister was of a tender age, but realised that at seventeen, Lucy was now every inch as courteous and beautiful as Susan; and that this Prince would not be the last noble to start arriving to inquire to court her._

_On that note, Peter had to swallow back a hard knot of jealousy building up in his throat._

_He'd been practically father, as well as brother, to his younger siblings in Narnia, here in England things were vastly different. Though still his siblings would always glance at him for permission silently,(out of habit,) whenever asked something by their parents._

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Peter glanced over at Edmund. The greatest changes, for the good, had occurred to his little brother while in Narnia. They'd grown close again, the relationship they'd had once, (the childhood infatuation little Edmund had had for his big brother,) seemed to arrive back in a different form.

As King and High King, there was a unspoken sense of duty and devotion between Peter and Edmund. Each trusting each other explicitly to act in their capacity; although in matters of judgement, (especially outside of the battle field.) Peter almost always bowed to his much graver brother's opinion on the situation.

Thankfully, that grave manner of judgement of Edmund's had not changed on arriving back in England. Though the youthful expression had yet to take on the set of jaw, and deep-set frown, of Narnia's greatest judge, Edmund had been much more thoughtful and accepting of their turn of events.

Peter knew it wasn't only himself that raged and questioned why they'd gone back to England, (especially just moments after they had left the land of their birth, and the same age.)

But the eldest of the Pevensie children had been a warrior whom, despite also loving the idea of peace, loved his sword Rhindon clutched his hand during the midst of battle more than anything apart from his siblings and Aslan. There was not more welcome sight then his bright, beautiful sword gleaming out in front of him as Peter ordered his men onto the battlefield.

Once he'd finished with his schooling, Peter had devoted every day to exercising in the practice fields with Oreius and his men, engaging in swordplay with his captain of the guard and his knights.

Along with paperwork and other tasks, when he was at home and not on the battlefield, sometimes the High King of Narnia barely stopped during the day to eat, and talk, with his siblings.

Christmas and Easter had really been the only times Peter could remember actually relaxing...well perhaps also a lazy day in summer, when it was too hot to do much, his time instead was spent on the beach with his siblings and nobles of Narnia and Archenland.

The High King smiled in memory of the lively play between the twin sons of King Lune that would occur.

Once Cor and Corin had been reunited, it had been like they'd never been parted, and the young teens would dunk each other under the waves, and try to get the attention of the Susan, Lucy and their foster sister Avaris, with various tricks.

Their young, Calormen noble foster sister was also a source for practical jokes from the Archenlander princes. Somehow Avaris always managed to catch Cor in the act, and, after scolding him soundly, dragged him to either King Lune or Edmund for judgement of his teasing.

Corin found this most amusing, although he was always found out by his father or Edmund, who knew instinctively the young twin was the real source of the practical joke.

Cor and Avaris were always at each others throats, but sometimes they would sit quietly together and talk softly, dark haired head resting against blond as they did so. Lucy had observed wisely that the Calormen teen would soon become engaged to the heir to the Archenlander throne, all her siblings agreed, and looked forward to the announcement one day.

Peter was struck by the sudden thought that even if Cor and Avaris had married, they might never know about it. If Cair Paravel was in ruins, what had become of their greatest ally? At the same moment he was also forced to acknowledge that Cor and Avaris would have been long dead by now, as would have Corin, and King Lune even longer passed.

The blond haired teen let out a shuddering sigh and Lucy was at her eldest brother's side in an instance, grabbing his hand in her much smaller one.

"Peter? Are you okay?" Lucy questioned soothingly, although, given her tone, must have known the question was redundant. None of them were feeling okay, despite being back in their land.

The High King picked up his sister in a huge hug, not needing to say anything, and quickly placed her back down. "I'll be alright." Peter cupped his hands around Lucy's plump features and placed a kiss on her forehead.

Edmund motioned over to a wall up ahead, covered in vines and growth, that was still standing,

"Peter, do you think that might be the treasury? It was in this general vicinity I think," the younger Pevensie boy looked about the ruin covered landscape to regain his bearings. "Actually I'd be almost certain that's what it is."

Susan also looked around, "I'd bet you're right, Ed," she backed up her younger brother, taking a few steps forward and surveying the distance from the throne room, her siblings joined her and Peter nodded firmly.

"You're completely right, Ed. Let's just hope it hasn't been looted and we might find some swords or something to help us navigate what Narnia's become," Peter pointed out, finding the longer he breathed in the fresh air coming in of the Eastern Sea, the more he started to feel and sound like a High King again.

Climbing up towards the crumbling wall, Peter tried to form a picture in his mind of the halls and stairwells one had to travel through to reach the treasure chamber. There had been a false wall across the simple wooden-door entrance, that had to be pushed aside by one or two men.

Peter remembered the day he could finally push aside the door on his own, he must have been about twenty or so. It had been a sort of personal triumph, and he would have smirked about it, if not for the fact Edmund and Mr Tumnus had been with him, and eyeing him with more than a little mirth at his expression of pride over doing so.

"Catapults," Edmund suddenly voiced, interrupting Peter's nostalgia. The other Pevensies all halted and turned to look at the second-youngest of them, who had knelt beside a burnt rock and studying it with solemn interest.

Peter blinked down at his brother, "what?"

Edmund looked around and then back up at Peter, "this didn't just happen. Cair Paravel was attacked," he revealed, looking around wordlessly.

The other Pevensies also took in a sharp breath of dismay, and Peter held in a desire again not to lash out with his fists against something in anger. _No one had been here to defend Cair Paravel? How many years before she was attacked?_

Swallowing back his anger at himself for not being here to defend his castle, Peter turned his dark blue eyes ahead and walked ahead of his siblings, his eyes narrowed firmly.

At least if the treasure chamber was intact, at least if there was a possibility of his shield and sword , or any shield and sword for that matter, Peter would feel hope return...even a statue of Aslan. An imagery of the true King of Narnia would help bolster all of their spirits.

Edmund darted over as Peter reached the wall, and as Susan and Lucy looked on, their brothers pushed aside the false door, revealing the once plain, but elegant, entrance door reduced to rotting wood and rusting hinges. The metal knob and lock had rusted also, but the wood looked weak enough to break through.

Peter punched the decaying door just near enough to the knob and broke through the wood, pulling off a large chunk and tossing it aside; the High King then reached around to attempt to open it, but the door fell off its rotted hinges as he pushed it aside.

Looking down into the dark, dank view that followed down the crumbling stone staircase, Peter knew they need a torch and looked down at the edge of his shirt. Ripping it off a few centimetres above the hemline, Peter then grabbed a thick stick from the ground and wrapped the white cotton around the stick's pronged top.

"I don't suppose you have any matches do you?" Peter directed the question at his younger brother as he wrapped the fabric about the stick, already in the mind-set to go off hunting for some flint.

Edmund raised his brow, "well, no. But," he turned and lifted up the flap of his school satchel, reaching in with his left hand, he pulled out his new, silver, battery operated torch and smirked cheekily up at Peter as he passed it to his right hand. "Would this help?"

Peter let out a small laugh, "you might have mentioned that a bit sooner!" He exclaimed, the girls giggled as Edmund waved the torch with a broad smile and walked past Peter into the treasury. The High King waved Susan and Lucy ahead and moved to follow them after.

Edmund had switched on his torch and was already halfway down the entrance stairs, the others all caught up and they all stepped carefully in their bare feet down the stone stairs, eventually coming to the first level, which looked down into the treasure chamber; lit up by the sunlight beaming down through the once fine, glass dome above it.

Peter held in a gasp as he saw the grand chamber, laid out just as he remembered it, apart from the peeling frescoes and crumbling stone filling it. He spared a glance above and saw the glass dome had been smashed in several places; but the iron supports had bent and twisted themselves enough, (from the presumed catapult attacks,) to hide the view of the treasury from above.

Exhaling hard, Peter walked ahead of Edmund and Susan, who had stopped at the wrought iron gates to gaze wonderingly into the chamber, and the High King pushed open the rusting gates, remembering for a moment how they had once never squeaked, but merely glided open.

"I can't believe it," Peter breathed in disbelief. "It's all still here."

Looking up ahead, the chests were all there...guarded by those marble statues Susan had brought in her favourite mountain dwarf artisans to carve from the finest, smoothest white marble from the mountains near Mt. Pire.

Peter didn't know if he could yet confront the effigy of himself as the grown man and King he'd been, but his siblings readily rushed ahead towards their identical golden, elaborate chests, (the only difference between the chests being their respective shields carved into the metal work.)

As he heard the creaking sound of Edmund, Susan and Lucy lifting up the lids of their chest, Peter looked down at the stone table off to the side and picked up a dust coloured, circular shield. Blowing off the dust, Peter saw the beautifully carved face of Aslan staring out from the gold.

He remembered this trophy shield well. Very well.

In the twelfth year of their reign, early in the summer, they'd received an invitation from the kingdom of Terebinthia to attend tournaments being held on the small island. Attending the tournament with his siblings, Peter had won this shield after coming first in the joust aboard his beloved Pollex. (Whom, Peter though sadly, he'd left behind in the woods after they'd followed Lucy back through the wardrobe.)

Brushing off more of the dust lovingly, Peter wondered where the trophy of the Unicorn head of Terebinthia shield Edmund had won in the boxing had gotten to, when heard Lucy exclaim something.

"I used to be so tall," Peter's little sister chirped, holding a beautiful, embroidered gown to her chest.

"Well, you were older then," Susan replied placidly with a fond smile at her baby sister.

"As opposed to hundreds of years later," Edmund spoke up from within a familiar, silver, engraved helmet on his head, now far too big for him. "When you're younger."

As his sisters let out a small laugh and smiled, Peter almost smiled himself at his brother's words and looked back down at the golden shield, blowing dust off from the opposite side and revealing Aslan's beautiful face, also engraved on that side, once more.

Glancing up, Peter at last gave a good stare in the direction of the statue of himself. Looming protectively and proudly over the lone gold chest that remained unopened.

As Peter found himself moving towards the partially lit alcove, he drank in every detailed line of the statue. Standing with legs slightly apart, (and his hands clasping the hilt of Rhindon, pointing into the ground,) the man's booted legs moved upwards towards a carved tunic and elaborately carved cape, draped over his shoulders and across the left side of his chest.

Subconsciously lifting his hand to his chin as he looked at the statue's bearded features, Peter almost dejectedly dropped his hand and gazed up at the carved crown, set high atop the shoulder-length haired head.

_We all used to be a lot taller, Lu_, Peter silently said to his youngest sister as he was about to reach the base of his statue and golden chest.

"What is it?" Lucy suddenly exclaimed, shaking her oldest brother from his painful revere of the effigy of his former self and Peter glanced aside at his sisters, the eldest of whom was rummaging through various objects, her gifts from Father Christmas of quiver and bow already in her grasp.

"My horn," Susan explained, a look of grave dismay on her pretty features. "I must have left it on my saddle, the day we went back."

Peter turned away from the saddened expression on Susan's face, and turned his attention back on the statue of himself. Gazing upon those solemn, carved features, Peter suddenly felt like he was meeting with a stranger, instead of the reflection he'd gazed at often enough in the mirror-glass, after he'd first grown his beard.

It was almost like a remembered past life, like the scenarios that psychiatrists wrote about, instead of it being his own skin he'd grown into. Like it had been someone else's body Peter had inhabited. A warrior, a King...a High King who commanded respect from all other Kings and Lords, bending his knee to no-one but Aslan himself.

Shaking his head, Peter's eyes darted to the side reproachfully and, as he felt he must, bowed his head to the warrior High King carved in effigy, turning his gaze down on the chest and lifting it with a scowl of determination.

His scowl dropped in an instant to an expression of seriousness, but relief when he saw beautifully carved, golden lion head peaking out over the hilt, sheathed in a carefully worked, maroon leather scabbard. Tracing his fingers along the hilt for the briefest of seconds, Peter lifted the sheathed sword from the chest reverently and, holding it carefully, pulled out his Rhindon from the scabbard.

The sword let out a glorious ring as it was pulled from its sheath and Peter gazed at his beloved weapon as it shone under the dim sunlight streaming through the treasure chamber.

Balancing the weight of Rhindon in his right grasp, Peter read the script, engraved in gold along the raised middle of the sword, out loud. "_When Aslan bares his teeth, winter shall meet its death._"

"_When he shakes his mane_," Lucy's sweet solemn voice continued and Peter, Susan and Edmund all looked over at their younger sister. "_We shall have spring again_."

There was a sad silence that settled amongst them, and Peter's eyes locked gravely with Lucy's for the briefest of moments, before Lucy turned to look around at her other siblings.

"Everyone we ever knew...the Beavers, Mr Tumnus..." the youngest Narnian monarch swallowed hard, forcing back the tears misting in her eyes. "They're all gone."

Susan glanced over at Peter, who in turn looked over at Edmund, before turning his gaze firmly back at his upset youngest sister. "I think it's time we found out what's going on." Peter mentioned simply, Lucy's eyes brimmed with tears, but she nodded firmly in her brave manner.

As they all fell quiet, Susan walked over to pull her sister into a comforting hug as Peter sighed and re-sheathed his sword, glancing over at Edmund with a serious expression.

"I was thinking where we should try and obtain some information from. Archenland?"

Edmund rubbed the back of his neck with the hand banded with his metal shield, the first one he'd been given by Oreius. "I was thinking the same. They were our allies once, they've always been lead by a good King," he pointed out.

Lucy looked almost her old self as she smiled. "Why little Cor might now be...no, he wouldn't...well he would have perhaps...I've forgotten how much time could have passed." She looked up at Peter, who had laid his scabbard back in its chest.

"You were thinking the same thing earlier, when we were walking around outside, weren't you Peter? That's why you looked so glum."

Peter winced and nodded, Susan had a tear rolling down her cheek as she hugged Lucy tighter, the two sisters holding each other close in their bereavement of their lost friends. "Yes. But Cor's descendants might still be in charge of Archenland," he reminded everyone.

Edmund grasped the silver lion head of his sword. "That is good reason for hope, and we can pay our respects perhaps," he mentioned sadly. "I would have liked to have seen if Cor married that little, fiery Calormen maid, and what became of his rascal of a brother Corin."

Peter clasped his hands together to attempt to change the subject. "Well, let's have a look around the chamber and see what else we can find. I found the gold shield I won on Pollex at the tournament in Terebinthia in our twelfth year, Ed. Do you remember where you left that Unicorn shield you won in boxing?"

Susan tutted in dismay as Edmund smiled broadly in memory. "Oh I hated that you took part in that one, Ed! You were so bloody, and you had a black eye for nearly two weeks," she remembered, as Lucy giggled at Edmund, who merely preformed an elaborate bow in response to his sister's words.

"And I'd do it again," Edmund turned to Peter. "I'm not sure about the shield. I think it was hung up on the wall over on this side," he furrowed his brow.

"I'd been in a foul mood that day. I think it was mostly wine and the anger of losing the hand of Lady Alaine of Galma, to her disgusting cousin, that won me that trophy."

Peter patted Edmund's shoulder. "I remember. It wasn't an easy time for any of us," he shuddered in memory of what had eventually become of the lovely Lady Alaine.

The lady had thrown herself in the river to drown after her husband Lord Rew had gone mad and killed their only daughter, before killing himself. They left behind a small boy, twin to his sister, to be raised by Duke Sturm.

"My favourite memory of that tournament, " Lucy quickly changed the subject. "Was Edmund flinging Alix over his shoulder to participate in the maid-carrying races. Do you remember Peter? Edmund just lifted her right..." She trailed off when she saw the solemn expression on Peter's face at the mention of that name, and Susan put a hand on Lucy's shoulder, shaking her head.

"I do," Peter suddenly smiled and looked over at Edmund. "I do remember that trophy you won being quite funny. It was of a bronze donkey kicking a bucket, wasn't it?" He walked over to the pile of gold offside to Lucy's alcove and picked up a statue of Aslan.

"We don't talk about these memories more, we should." Peter looked down into the blank, carved eyes of the open mouthed golden lion.

"It keeps them alive."

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**That's vignette one. I have a few more planned, scattered throughout PC and the other books of Narnia, if people are interested, but you have to let me know. Thanks for reading. **


	2. Ethereal Beauty

**Thank-you very much to my readers and reviewers. Hope you enjoy this part. **

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Part Two: **Ethereal Beauty**

**Summary: **A tale set both during the golden age and our world.**  
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**Ethereal Beauty.**

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**I**t began in the dancing lawns.

A wafting, intoxicating scent of jasmine and cherry blossom, surrounded and penetrated the senses; drifting around him in a wafting, airy manner that left him dizzy and hearing the blood pounding in his ears.

The dancing was in celebration of his sixteenth birthday. The birthday of the High King of Narnia was celebrated with great revelry for the past for years the four kings and queens had been on the thrones of Cair Paravel.

A celebration of the birth of one of the delivers of their land, from the clutches of the White Witch and endless winter, (but never Christmas,) was cause for high entertainment and praise for all who dwelt in Narnia, and the guests from the allied kingdoms.

Peter woke up that morning not really feeling any different. He'd padded in his bare-feet over to his dresser, to gaze into the looking glass to see if there was any physical change in his appearance overnight.

A tall, fair haired youth stared back out at the High King. A youth with eyes that seemed ageless, (and looked as if they belonged in the gaze of a much older person,) but the same blue eyes Peter the Magnificent of Narnia saw the world with, nevertheless.

Comparing himself with a few years prior, Peter saw his shoulders were starting to broaden and his arms starting to gain bulk to add to his sinewy build. Running his hands over his face he could feel course, fair hair prickling his fingertips. Soon he'd be shaving...

A brief thought went to his father, whom he longed to be able to confide in. But Peter couldn't remember quite what had happened to his parents, or where they were.

He thought his father might be fighting in a war back in his home world, a bad one.

Not having long to dwell on things from his past, Peter's thought were broken by a pounding on his bedroom door and the excited voices of his siblings. They would be calling for him to open up so they could give him the funny, thoughtful and loving presents they'd assembled for him every year.

Later that day there was much feasting and revelry, the fauns played their music towards the end of the night and encouraged the Narnians to the dancing lawns. Sleepy Lucy was taken to bed by the thoughtful Mrs Beaver, and Susan was quite contented to stay in the ballroom and dance with the Archenlander Princes and Lords. But Peter and Edmund joined hands with the dryads and naiads. The nymphs and fauns continuing their music and song, as they all moved through the woods; mostly hand in hand and half-skipping down the paths. Lighting lanterns and torches, the merrymakers called out for to all to praise Aslan and bless the High King with a long and glorious reign. Intoxicated with beverages pushed into his hand at every opportunity, Peter soon found himself praising himself in the same manner, as if he was one of the mischievous wood-nymphs.

Upon reaching the lawns, they assembled a circle around a ready-made bonfire. The pan-pipes and drums thundered out an almost primitive beat, the revellers stomping their feet, paws or hooves in synchronistic rhythm.

Peter felt as if his bare-feet were not even touching the ground as he danced, glancing over his shoulder he saw Edmund had grown tired, (and perhaps being more sensible despite his youth,) and settled on a flat stone beside the musicians to watch the dancing. His eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion and he waved to his brother. But Peter was so far gone in his carousing that he merely waved off his brother's silent suggestion of halting, and that was when that most overwhelming aroma of jasmine and cherry blossom flooded his senses.

The High King would have reeled back onto his behind, if not for the slender, strong hands that swung him into a circular dancing step. Straightening himself, Peter saw the source of the intoxicating scent was a slender, fair-haired dryad, the self-same creature that was now leading him in a swinging step as the rest of the Narnians broke off into couples as well. Beauty was often a pale term for creatures like dryads. This one brought to mind the young one Peter had danced with as their coronation ceremony...was it her?

The long, almost tangled dark-blonde hair was the same, but her clothing was not the elaborate silver dress the dryad had been wearing. Here on the lawns the dryads wore white-shifts, draped and bundled above the knee, and tied at the shoulders.

Now she moved him closer to the bonfire, Peter could see it was the self-same dryad maid, her tangled locks were woven with jasmine and her tree must be that of cherry-blossom. "Hello," Peter greeted, the dryad smiled her unbelievably white smile and bowed her head.

"Do you remember me, your majesty?"

The voice was just the same and Peter nodded.

"We danced at the coronation of my siblings and I. Charis is your name?" The High King questioned as the dryad twirled herself around and bowed her head again, her dark green eyes sparkling like the stars above their heads.

"Charis is indeed my name. It has been two years, your majesty, and you have met many of my kind," Charis spun back around into Peter's arms again. "You remembered me though?"

A sense of abandon and desire filled the form of the youthful eldest King of Narnia, and Peter dipped the dryad. "I remembered your scent," he said in a low voice and Charis gazed back knowingly into his eyes. "You're so beautiful."

Charis laughed gaily and took Peter's hand, "come with me, we shall find a quiet grove," she whispered suggestively; and the High King, (lost in no other thought but the way the slender, swaying dryad's form moved,) eagerly let the dryad guide him away from the revellers.

The music followed them still. The dryad laughing in her hauntingly beautiful way, as Peter tried to pull her close to him and Charis playfully pulled away, encouraging the High King to follow her far away from the bonfire. They glided through the darkened woods, their path lit up only by the moonlight and glittering stars that seemed to dance across the dryad maid's hair. Peter was enthralled by every movement of Charis, and let out a moan of relief as the dryad at last let him pull her to himself and kiss her on the mouth. Her slender arms tangled about the High King's neck, and the teenaged monarch wrapped his arms around Charis' waist to draw her close.

The next moments...minutes...hours, were spent falling to the ground and tumbling onto the soft moss, lawn and heather covering the small grove's floor; the couple delighting in the movements, and heated passion, created between themselves. Peter marvelled at the way Charis body stirred to life at his touch, and he floated throughout their time spent together, as if lost within a wonderful, ethereal dream...

-xxx-

"_Your majesty? Your majesty...?"_

The eyelids of High King Peter fluttered open and he felt the cool, early morning air prickling his bare-skin. And his arms empty...Charis had slipped away long before he'd awoken.

Raising himself into a seated position, the memory of last night came back to Peter and he pushed back his shoulder-length hair, (plastered to his forehead with dried perspiration,) from his features and discovered himself still lying under his embroidered blue cloak. (Pulled over Charis and himself last night to ward off the coolish night air of the mid-summer weather.) Looking around for his clothing, Peter heard whomever was calling out for him drawing closer and looked around earnestly for at least his tights...

"_Your majesty_? Your majesty! Thank Aslan!" A relieved voice spoke up from the left hand side of the grove, and peering over the top of the bramble bushes was the centaur Oreius. Peter's captain of the guard and one of his closest confidants. The horse bodied beast of Narnia jumped over the bushes and sided up to his High King, bowing from the waist up, before eyeing the unclad Peter, (meekly holding the cloak over himself,) with a knowing eyebrow. "Your majesty, would you like me to find the rest of your clothes?" Oreius said with more than a bit of mirth in his voice.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck with a winning smile, "thank-you good Oreius," the High King said firmly, wrapping the cloak around himself as he joined in the centaur in the hunt for his clothes.

As Peter got to his bare-feet, he felt something crush beneath his right foot releasing a familiar scent; and he looked down at the ground of the small, sunlit grove, and saw a wreath of jasmine, interwoven with cherry-blossom...

~-xxx-~

There was a pounding on the bedroom door and a great ruckus, and Peter opened up his blue eyes in a flash. His hand unconsciously reached for Rhindon on the bed post, but his hand only ran over the smooth, polished wood of the bedpost belonging to the single bed he slept in.

"_Peter! Peter! Wake up!"_ Lucy's joyful voice penetrated through the door.

"_Yes Pete, open up_!" Edmund's breaking voice joined in his sister's request, and their cousin Eustace, (much changed since Peter had last met him, [Narnia of course,]) also joined in.

"_C'mon Peter. We've assembled a breakfast tray for you_!"

Pulling himself into a seated position, the teenager looked around the small, guest room of the Scrubbs, and Peter drew his knees to his chin. Reaching up with his fingers, Peter grazed them across the small amount of stubble developing on his cheeks. His sixteenth birthday. Again.

Unlike in Narnia, Peter's birthday occurred in the Christmas holidays and he was able to stay at his Aunt and Uncle's, with Edmund and Lucy, before the start of the school term.

Resolving to get it over and done with, Peter threw off the covers, pulled on his robe and tied it as he got to his bare-feet and padded across the polished floorboards. Unlocking the wooden door, Peter pushed it open and folded his arms over his robe with a small smile. His two siblings and fair haired cousin were standing there, dressed and holding a tray filled with not only food, but small wrapped gifts; and Edmund carried the remarkable painting of a dragonship, (which had turned out to be King Caspian X's _Dawn Treader_.)

Lucy stood on tip-toe to kiss her brother's cheek. "Happy Birthday!" She exclaimed and Peter hugged his growing sister tightly, before pulling his brother into a tight hug as well.

"Thank-you," the eldest Pevensie thanked and offered Eustace a hand, the latter shook it but looked up at his eldest cousin with a raised brow, as the group entered the bedroom and closed the door. "What is it, Euce?"

The freckled face of Eustace had a look of curiosity, "you've turned sixteen before, haven't you, Peter?" He demanded. "When you were High King of Narnia?"

Peter scratched the back of his head as he sat down on the bed, opposite Lucy, who was arranging the tray as Edmund propped the '_very Narnian-looking,_' picture on the bedside table."Yes I have."

Eustace started counting on his fingers as Edmund sat down on the end of the bed. "So you're technically _how_ old?" The Pevensies cousin questioned as he tried to work it out for himself.

Peter picked up a piece of jam covered toast and munched on it, reaching for the cup of tea with his free hand. "Thirty-one," he confided, taking a sip of the tea. Eustace nodded his head and sat on the end of the bed next to Edmund.

"Doesn't it feel a bit odd to be that old and have to go back to school and twaddle like that?" Eustace invoked. "I know it would bug the dickens out of me!"

There was a concerned look on the faces of Edmund and Lucy, but Peter merely laughed and put down his tea-cup. "Aslan's mane, Euce. It could've been worse, really. We could have fallen out of the wardrobe the ages we were during our reign and no-one, except for Professor Kirke, would have known who we were in this world." He admitted.

Edmund rolled his eyes and rested his hands on the back of his neck. "That's interesting to not hear you not grumble about our lot for a change. Oh did I tell you Caspian has a beard now? And he's lost his accent," he revealed. "He's a proper King of Narnia now. He reminded me of you...but less bossy."

Peter threw a pillow at his brother's head and it hit Edmund square in the face for a change, before landing on his lap. "Birthday luck, or are you losing your reflexes, Ed?"

Lucy laughed at the disgruntled look on her younger brother's face, and stole the pillow away from Edmund before he could think of throwing it back at Peter. "Caspian does make a good king, but he still compares himself to you occasionally, and all the stories of our exploits."

Eustace stole a piece of toast and looked over his eldest cousin with another curious expression. "I would have liked to see you all high and mighty, Peter. You just look like a schoolboy here on Earth." He took a bite of the toast. "Was your last sixteenth birthday much different to this?"

Edmund looked knowingly over at his brother and confidant, as Peter waved his hand dismissively, forcing away the memory of the scent of jasmine and cherry-blossom that threatened to overcome him.

"Very." The High King of Narnia replied simply and drowned the last of his tea, looking down into the empty china cup with a resolute smile."_Very_ different."

**

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**There we have it. Yes the movie versions of _Narnia_ were primarily filmed in New Zealand and Australia, so the weather runs opposite to the real world in my theory. Review if you like, otherwise, thanks for reading. :)**


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